Stone Walls
by feet269
Summary: Natara has raised her and Mal Fallon's son by herself. Her child's safety is no.1 priority. Now 17 and without any knowledge of his mother's past or his father, he has an interest in a dangerous profession. Will Natara be able to protect him this time? Or will she have to accept she must let go?
1. Dinner

**This is my first fanfiction. I'd written it on my iPod, so sorry in advance for any messed up mistakes. Um, enjoy! (;^-^)**

* * *

Malachi Williams sat across the table from his mum, absentmindedly poking at the half eaten dinner in front of him with his fork. The silence that gripped the dining room of the apartment was almost deafening to him, broken only by the tapping of his fork hitting the white porcelain plate.

Say something, he willed his mum, who was staring at him with her hazel eyes with what may be considered as concern. She wasn't the kind to display her emotions openly, and according to the many who gossiped around her workplace, she had none. The Robot, they had nicknamed her, giggling behind her back. Which to many, was appropriate, as she gave the impression that she was as cold as ice, as feeling as stone. Mal remembered a time when he was three, when she was constantly opened herself to others and cry on the shoulders of the many visitors that came. Then one day, she just suddenly changed. Whatever the reason, nowadays Mal's prayers had been answered, though not in a way he had wished.

"Mal?," his mother asked after swallowing, "What's the matter?"

Of course she had picked up on it. Anyone would've, and she wasn't anyone, with her uncanny skill of seeing things that many didn't. A change in behaviour, a bulge in Mal's jacket that coincided with the missing $20 note that he suggested she had lost. The way she did what she did was almost unnatural, especially to Mal who only saw her as a single mother accountant. If only he knew.

"Oh nothing," he weakly replied, looking down at his meal to avoid making eye contact. This only raised her suspicions.

"It's not nothing," she demanded, gesturing at the meal in front of him. Her plate was empty. "Tell me."

He sighed. That night she had cooked his favourite, a type of Indian curry that his ageing mother had perfected over years of practice. It was hot and spicy, the way that would make many gasping and reaching for the water but it just kept Mal wanting more. He usually would have wolfed it down, finishing it way before his mother who rewarded him with a wan smile as she told him to chew.

There was a reason for that lack of carnage that night. It wasn't because he was full; he was quite the opposite, his growling stomach reminded him. And it tasted great as usually. It was the butterflies in his tummy that were to blame, butterflies that seemed to evolve into fully grown eagles as he attempted to steel himself for the task ahead.

Just tell her, part of Mal told him. But what's the point when you know what's she is going to say? What's she is going to do? She wouldn't let you go on school camp, for crying out loud. She isn't going to let you do something this dangerous. It's suicide, he concluded. But he told her anyway.

"Mum," he started.

"Yes?"

"I've decided that," he hesitated, before fashioning his noose.

Are you sure you want to do it? his mind asked.

Yes, he told himself. It's my calling.

"...That I want to become a police offic-"

"No!" his mum, Natara Williams almost screamed. She abruptly stood up, sending her chair clattering. Mal's cerulean eyes widened in shock before he set them into a frown.

"I won't let you," she insisted, eyebrows furrowing.

"Dammit, Mum! It's my life. I'm calling the shots. I wasn't asking for your permission, opinion or blessing! I just thought that you might want to know! I know I just have to be a police officer." Mal shouted back, ignoring the warning signs.

"I don't care! I'm still not letting you. I'm your mother, it's my job to protect you! Why can't you do something safe? Like an accountant like me, or a banker? Why do you just have to run around being shot at!?"

"Because there's this feeling! I just have to! I want to do good in this life, not rob people with pen and paper. Why can't you just accept that? Be supportive for a change!"

"Because I don't want you to get hurt!"

"You're such a control freak, mum. Always bubble wrapping me! Don't do this, don't do that. I'm not the black haired, tanned skinned baby you gave birth to anymore! I'm 17 years old now, for goodness sake! I can make my own choices! NO WONDER DAD LEFT YOU!" Mal screamed back. He instantly wished he didn't when he saw the look in his mum's eyes.

Natara looked like she was going to cry. Her eyes watered up as she glowered at her son. She clenched her fists by her side.

"Mum," Mal stuttered, l.. I.. I'm-"

"Just go," she growled.

Mal ignored her, "I'm sor-"

"JUST GO!" Natara exploded, "JUST GO!"

Mal complied. Fearing for his life, he ran into his room and closed the door for safe measure.

* * *

Mal collapsed in a heap on his bed, replaying the conversation in his head.

Eating dinner...

Telling her...

Shouting...

Her reaction when I mentioned Dad...?

What was with that? Mal wondered. Was Mum still not over him, even after all this time? I was told that he left her before I was born. Was it because she was pregnant? Or was there a deeper reason?

Mal yawned. He could wonder about it later. Now it was time for some shut eye.

* * *

Natara heard her son's bedroom door shut. With that, she unleashed everything she was holding in. Silent tears streamed down her wrinkled face. She sat down and held herself, leaning against the wall. She didn't want him to join the SFPD. She didn't want him to get hurt. She didn't want to lose him.

Just like she lost Mal Fallon, the man who's her son named after, the man she loved and her son's father.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Brad and Jack

**People reviewed! \o/ **

**NiekaWow: Thankyou! I knew it would be a bit confusing, but I hoped that people would realise what you did. After all, what else would Natara name her son?**

**mozzi-girl: I'm actually from Australia. I wonder why Americans etc. spell it differently... Thanks!**

**The story now has a cover pic that I drew myself. I really like how it came out.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cause of Death and any canonical characters.**

**Now, to the story!**

* * *

Mal woke up to the high pitched trill of his alarm clock.

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

Groaning and still half asleep, he felt around his bedside table, searching for the button that would cease the infernal racket. Lamp, iPod charger, naming the objects he touched in his head as he fumbled around.. Where the heck is that cursed button?. His mobile phone was sent clattering off the wooden table by a vicious sweep of the hand. Cursing under his breath, Mal somehow managed to convinced himself to actually open his eyes, albeit slowly. Glowing green numbers displayed the time. '6:33' Finally, after much hassle, he found the key to salvation, slamming his hand onto the silver button to end the source of misery.

*Beep* *Beep* *Be-

Mal rose and belatedly got out of bed, mattress creaking as he did. The outfit he was going to wear for school hung in the inbuilt wardrobe, visible through the open sliding door. It comprised of dark grey jeans, a loose t-shirt, a green hooded jacket and sneakers, which at the moment lay haphazardly on the ground. Function over fashion, Mal thought. He changed into the attire, grumbling as he did. He hated waking up early and he had barely slept that night, the conversation weighing heavily on his mind.

Mal walked out of his room, into the living room. From there he could see that his mother was already awake. She was still in her pyjamas and a carton of milk stood on the table she sat at. The apartment was high class and had an open design to it. The kitchen and dining room were on a elevated platform.

"Good morning," Natara said as Mal poured the contents of a cereal box into a bowl.

"Good morning," he replied. He used up the remaining milk in the carton and sat down at the table.

Wisely, no one chose to bring up what had happened last night.

"I'll drop you off at school, just let me get ready for work," she informed, breaking the awkward silence that had once again enveloped the room. Mal just nodded and grunted, his mouth too full of 'Captain Crunch' to make an intelligent verbal respond. Natara dumped her bowl in the sink and had left to change, leaving her son to sit and eat alone.

* * *

"Bye, Mal"

"Bye, Mum" he replied, closing the passenger side door of the car. He opened the boot and retrieved his schoolbag. It was bulky and heavy, with all his math and chemistry books packed in. Heaving it onto his back, Mal trudged through the front door of Geary High for another day of torture.

The corridor was noisy. Most stood in groups chtting loudly in their groups about their date last night, the latest soccer match, a newly released video game, etc. In the middle of the corridor, a group of athletic looking men congregated. They were the school's gridiron team, he knew, and complete bastards. As Mal watched a scrawny freshman be slammed into the derelict lockers by them, and fall onto the worn tiles, he felt a pang of sympathy as he remembered when he was in a similar situation. Jeers emerged from the group.

Mal offered his hand to the nerdy looking boy, who gladly accepted, hauling himself up.

"You okay?" Mal asked.

"Yeah," the brunette kid replied. He adjusted his backpack and then tried again, and succeeded, in getting past the herd of jocks.

"Thanks," the kid called out over his shoulder as Mal faced the same danger ahead. He whispered a silent prayer as he attempted to walk past, praying that Brad hasn't noticed him. He didn't, but in a cruel twist of fate, his right-hand man, Jack, did.

"Hey, isn't that Chicken?" he called out to Brad, pointing at Mal.

"Yes, it is," Brad smirked, "Lets have some fun, shall we?"

Mal groaned. Despite those bastards making his life hell since the start of highschool, he never told anyone about it, for the fear of upsetting his mother. He didn't know what she would do, with her overprotective nature. Mal turned around and walked off, intent on getting to his locker the other way. It would take longer to reach his locker, but at least he won't have the bruises to remind him of their encounter.

"Chicken's running away," Jack stated.

"You're right! Guess he is. We can't have that, can we?" Brad grinned evilly, excited at the prospect of a fight.

Mal walked faster, trying to get away, but he couldn't get past the large crowd that had blocked off the corridor. They pushed him back, worked up at the fight about to happen. Turning around, he saw Brad almost upon him. He whispered a silent prayer and just waited for the beating. He didn't want to agitate him by fighting back.

* * *

"You know you don't have to work here," Raj Mansingh told his daughter.

"I know," Natara replied, " But I'd just feel like I'm being cheap and freeloading on you."

"Don't worry about that. If that's the case, I want you to freeload off me. I've got plenty to spare. I am the 113th richest man in the world after all.," he replied with a smile.

"But I want to be treated equally. There is a reason why I changed my last name, Dad."

"You're just too old to be working, Nat."

"You're one to be speaking. You're over seventy years old!" Natara grinned.

"And I feel like I'm twenty. Age is but a number. This is my company, and it'll be mine until the day I die. You, the other hand.." He trailed off.

"No."

"But"

"No"

"Fine, fine." Raj responded, raising his wrinkled hands in defeat, "The offer still stands though.."

"Which I won't be accepting. I'm happy enough with the flexible working hours you've given me."

"I could give you no working hours."

"Now, onto your expenses," Natara announced, changing the subject. Raj just rolled his eyes.

"I believe we can save money if we cut spending here, here and here," she ignored him, jabbing at a sheet of paper on the desk in front of her.

* * *

Mal dragged himself onto the passenger seat of his mum's car. His torso and legs ached with numerous bruises. Despite his looks, Brad wasn't a complete idiot. He's been in the business of beatingpeopleupforkicks for a while. He knew to only hit where the bruises wouldn't be visible, hidden under his clothes, where teachers (and overprotective mothers, Mal added in his mind) couldn't see the damage wrought. He grimly wondered what Brad would do if he came to school in his birthday suit. That thought made it easier to ignore the pain and not frown when his mum asked him "How school was?"

"Alright, I guess," he replied. It was a massive lie. Saying school was bad would be an understatement.

"Don't lie, what's wrong?" Natara noticed the pain in Mal's eyes when they drove over a rough patch of bitumen. He had slightly bended over, clutching his stomach. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," Mal insisted, straightening up.

"You're not. What's the matter?"

"I'm fine!" he exclaimed, stiffly.

"If you insist.." Natara was not convinced.

"I do."


	3. Sneaking out

**A new chapter! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far.**

**mozzi-girl: Thankyou, I'll certainly try!**

**The Beautiful Filth: That is certainly one way things could go, but I was planning to keep Mal..achi in the dark for most of the story. As for if Mal (Fallon) is alive or not, you'll just have to see. I haven't actually decided yet ,**

* * *

Mal checked the time on his bedside clock.

'1:28'

Time to go. His heart sped faster, fueled by adrenalin. He hopped out of bed and quickly changed into the simple clothing he wore that day for school. They were comfy enough for what he was going to do, he knew. He's done it before. Instead of putting on his shoes however, he carried them in one hand.

Mal crept though the apartment, careful not to wake his mum. He's done this plenty of times before. It was harder today, with his body aching with each step he took. He silently cursed Brad as he reached the front door and slowly opened it. It didn't squeak, thank goodness, and Mal sneaked out.

Instead of taking the stairs down, Mal climbed onto the roof. He didnt want the staff to see him and tell Mum. He'd seen that happen before, to someone else; a grounded girl sneaked out with her boyfriend at night. When the girl went down the next morning with both parents, a janitor asked her how her date went. Her parents were not pleased. Luckily for Mal, his apartment was on one of the top floors so he didn't have far to go.

When he reached the roof, the cold air hit him like a blow. Mal put on his shoes only after zipping up his jacket. Standing far from the edge, he saw his target. A 4 meter gap separated the two buildings of equal hight. Eyes narrowing, he ran and leaped over the lethal fall. His two feet landed on the flat concrete roof of the other building. He walked down the external fire escape to the street and checked his watch. '1:36'

Mal basked in his freedom. He had done this occasionally each week, usually once or twice. It never got old to him. He could do whatever he chose to. His mum would never let him go out this late, willingly.

"It's dangerous," she always firmly insisted whenever he asked.

He knew his mum would worry unnecessary if he knew he was gone. And on any other night, she wouldn't.

Fate could be very cruel sometimes.

* * *

Natara woke up to the buzzing of her mobile phone. She groaned. What time was it? Unplugging her smartphone from its charger, she checked. '1:39' Far too early, she decided. The call was from an unknown number. She picked up.

"Hello?" she answered the phone. Her voice was heavy with sleep and she stifled a yawn.

"Is Mona Patel here?"

"Uh, no. Wrong number." If she found out whoever called, she was going to make them pay for waking her up for nothing.

"Oh, sorry." The person hanged up.

Oh, that bastard, Natara raged. She plugged her phone in again and tried to go back to sleep. She failed. She tried again. She failed. That freaking bastard ruined a perfectly good night's worth of sleep! She trudged out of bed, planning to read a book she'd bought until tiredness overwhelms her again.

She searched her room but failed to find it. It wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the study, dining room or living room. Natara bit her lip. She did I leave it? she wondered. Then it came to her. Mal had borrowed it for a literacy task he had to do for school.

* * *

_"Mum, what's this about?" Mal asked, waving about a hard cover copy of 'Great Expectations.'_

_"Why?" his mother asked._

_"My English teacher gave the class homework," he huffed, "An essay on a book of their choice by Charles Dickens."_

_"I don't know."_

_"What?"_

_"I don't know what's it about. I haven't read it yet. You can use it, if you want to, though."_

_"Oh, thanks."_

* * *

Natara plodded up to Mal's room, feet dragging on the door. She slowly opened the door, wincing as it screeched. She didn't want to wake him up, not she should have bothered with the unnecessary effort. When Natara saw the empty bed, she froze.

* * *

Malachi strolled down the sidewalk, passing the occasional late night jogger, drunk partygoer and once, a suspicious looking man with a bulging trench coat. The city was a whole different world after dark. Plain grey buildings are transformed into dark pillars, lit up by squares of light. Daytime walkers were replaced by more eccentric folk. The traffic was always there of course, the same with any major city, but the cars were darker, with highlights of red, yellow or whatever colour their lights were. Mal loved it. As he took a deep breath of the chilly night air, he basked in his surroundings. It seemed wild, different, like a whole different city to him. As he wallowed in such thoughts, a scream echoed through the night. It seemed to have came from the shady alleyway to the left of him.

Mal halted and turned his head. He couldn't see much in the darkness of the backstreet, only flashes of purple and the occasional gleam of something metallic. What was it? he wondered. A knife? A gun?! Mal wouldn't be surprised. He did live in America, after all. A plea sounded from the alley.

"Please, stop! Let go!" a high pitched voice screamed. Another glint of metal and violet accompanied the cry.

Mal didn't know what to do. Do nothing? Out of the question. Step in and help? Only if I fancy getting killed, Mal thought. Or stabbed. Or shot. Call the police? He felt around his pockets for his phone, then remembered he'd left it at home. Dang. Mal ran his hand through his hair. What to do? He sighed and before logic and common sense could change his mind, he rushed out of the relative safety of the open and into the grungy alleyway.

"Stop!" he exclaimed when he saw what was happening.

The first thing he noticed was a man in a ski mask attempting to steal a purple leather bag from a woman, with only his left hand. Then Mal realised what he was brandishing in his right hand. It was a blade, the kind that you use to open boxes. His mum had used it plenty when he was four. They had moved from her parent's house into the apartment. The man turned, his attention now focused on Malachi.

"This is none of your business," he growled. The clacking of high heels hitting the concrete ground was heard when the young woman ran off. The man's bloodshot eyes narrowed. "See what you've done! It's all your fault. You've got to pay!"

Too late, Mal had begun to run. The man was already on to him, slashing madly with his knife. Mal instinctively moved him arms in front of his face, frantically walking backwards. He tensed up and grimaced as the blade tore through clothing and cut through his flesh. It hurt like crazy. Hot blood ran down his arms and soaked into the fabric of his jacket. His arms were stained red when he slipped on a stray chip packet. Mal fell and hit his head on the hard ground. Dazed, he stared up, looking at the crazed man. The man lifted his weapon up and was about to plunge it into Mal, when a gunshot sounded.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! **


	4. Blaise

**Everyone wants the gunshot to be Natara. I feel so mean ;-; Also, thankyou for all the reviews. They really make my day.**

**I DO NOT own Cause of Death or any canonical characters. ;-;**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Blaise Corso walked down the sidewalk, carrying in one hand her handbag, in the other a plastic bag containing a milk carton, bread and a bottle of red wine. Despite Jeremy convincing her years ago to virtually give up beer, she still enjoyed the sensation only alcohol gave her. He practically made me promise, she growled in her mind. The cold air was still, but it still caused goosebumps to form on her skin. Setting her handbag down on an old brick fence that reached up to her waist, she zipped her leather jacket up with her now free hand. It was the little things that made a difference, Blaise contemplated as she picked up her purse. It was the little things that made her feel young again, that made her relive the moments when she was in her prime. Loud music, long parties, late nights. The many times she hooked up with Jeremy Redbird, her ex partner from the SFPD. She was retired from the police force now, though. She was too old to be out on the field.

Blaise continued walking. She was almost home, where she lived alone. It was late, she knew as she walked drunk revellers and shady looking people. She had protection though. Blaise grinned to herself as she felt the unusual weight of her purse. It was much heavier than most because it held different objects than others. Blaise's smile disappeared when she heard a desperate plea.

"Please stop! Let go!" a distant high pitched voice begged.

Probably a female, Blaise thought, the detective in her kicking in. She ran towards the source of the noise. Where was she? she desperately asked herself. Even though it was no longer her duty her help, she couldn't just do nothing.

"Stop!" a male voice cried, unknowingly answering her question.

A bystander, Blaise decided. Strange. He sounded familiar. Clearing her head of what she considered to be unnecessary thoughts, Blaise focused on the dilemma at hand. His voice seemed to come from.. That alleyway! She raced towards it, praying that everyone was okay.

Reaching the backstreet, she saw she had only seconds to asked. A young, dark skinned guy was falling backwards. His bleeding arms windmilled, his jacket stained with blood. In front of him, a man in a black ski mask stood triumphantly with a blood slicked blade in one, unwrinkled hand. So he wasn't ancient, Blaise deducted. He was about to plunge it into the man on the ground when she quickly acted. She hurriedly pulled out a small pistol out of her handbag after dumping her emergency groceries onto the floor. She shot once, into the air and then pointed it to Ski mask man.

"Drop your weapon," she yelled.

The man, assuming she had some kind of authority, complied. The blade clattered on the concrete as he also raised his hands.

"Good," she grimly smiled, enjoying her moment of power. She replaced her gun into her bag and slung it and her plastic bag on her arms. It leaked red liquid and the men panicked at the sight of it.

"You made me break my wine bottle!" she accused, "You bastards! My bread's probably ruined as well!"

Not happy, she held onto the two guys by their collar, then proceeded to drag them over to the police department. Both were very uncomfortable with the arrangement. She looked over to the bleeding young man and saw his face properly for the first time. Her pupils dilated. Those livid azure eyes, that raven hair.. It couldn't be, could it? It couldn't, she told herself as she composed her features. But he looked so.. Similar.

"Pull up your sleeves," she ordered, intent on distracting herself from her thoughts, "Let's take a look."

Mal hesitates.

"Do it."

The young man obeyed at the dangerous tone in her voice. His arms had a small number of bleeding cuts. They were somewhat deep, but not as deep as Blaise expected. Most surprising to her, though, were the grey and purple bruises that covered it.

"Where did you get them?" she asked referring to the bruises.

"Not from him," he pointed with his head. He really didn't want to talk about Brad. Blaise took the hint.

"There's gauze in my bag for the cuts. They'll do for now," Blaise said, "Don't ask why I have it."

* * *

"Hi Blaise. Long time, no see."

Blaise stood across the desk that Captain Jeremy sat at. He looked older than many his age, his wrinkles made more prominent by the stress his job brought.

"Yeah, yeah. What do you want?" Blaise snapped. Time has not healed the wound in her heart.

Jeremy smiled pleasantly, infuriating Blaise. "I need to ask a favour. Everyone's real busy tonight and I don't think he has a ride. Do you mind taking him home?"

"Can't. My car ain't here," Blaise pointed out.

"Mine is." Jeremy chucked a set of car keys to her. "Take care of her."

"Fine," she sighed.

"Also, do you want to catch up tomorrow? Over a cup of coffee?"

"No." Blaise's fists clenched by her sides.

"What about Wednesday?"

"No."

"What is it Blaise? Why are you upset with me?"

"Because you tried to change me!" she screamed, unable to keep it in, "I told you it would only work if you didn't try to change me, but you tried anyway! What is it? Wasn't I already good enough for you!?"

"No," Jeremy whispered, "You were perfect." But she didn't hear him as she was already out of the room.

* * *

Mal sat in the crowded precinct, idly waiting. The blond woman who dragged them here- Blaise, someone called her- was speaking with the Precinct Captain in his office. Ski mask man, revealed to be someone called Isaac Daxton, was dragged off by a police officer a while ago. Mal hadn't seen him since. Many officers sneaked curious peeks at him and his stained jacket as they walked past. Mal groaned at the thought of repairing it. It was his favourite and even if he could somehow get the blood stains out, he had no skill to sew up the tears caused by the blade. Eventually, Blaise emerged from the office, looking pissed.

"Get up," she growled at him, "I'm taking you back home. You've been found clear of any charges and whatnot. What's your name?" This is it. To see if her hunch was right.

"Malachi," he replied, "So, you work here?" He couldn't see her run after thieves and serial killers, and judging by her leather jacket and that rebellious look in her eyes, she didn't seem like the type to fill out paperwork.

"No. What's your last name?" she impatiently asked. Anyone could name their kids Malachi. She wanted to be sure.

"Then why are you taking me home?" Mal asked, ignoring Blaise's question, much to her displeasure. Her eyes narrowed.

"I know someone who works here," she pointed to the office she just exited, "Your last name?"

"I don't see what that has to do with anythi-"

"Last name. Now!"

Mal rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. It's Williams. Happy?" Blaise's eyebrows rose in shock, but she was quick to conceal it. He's certainly grown, Blaise thought.

"Uh, yeah. Very," she replied.

They walked out of the building, into the cold night. His watch told him it was 2:16. Blaise pressed the unlock button on a car key that Mal didn't notice she was holding. The lights on a sleek grey car flashed twice.

"Why is your car here?" Mal enquired.

"It isn't mine. It belongs to someone I know who works here."

"Oh."

They both hopped in the car; Blaise in the driver's seat and Mal in the passenger's. Once again, silence surrounded Mal. He turned on the radio in order to dispel it. Katy Perry started blaring from the speakers. Blaise stared at it in shock and for a fleeting moment Mal had a feeling that he'd done something wrong.

"I hope that's not what he usually listens to," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. Mal released the breath he had unknowingly been holding and took off his jacket. It was getting hot.

"Soo, where do you live?" Blaise asked.

"Isn't that the reason you asked for my name? You don't know where I live?" Mal looked at her, incredulously.

"No," she said, voice oozing with sarcasm, "I'm a stalker who knows where everyone lives."

"No surprise there," he muttered quietly. Not quietly enough, he reflected as Blaise whacked him in the arm.

"Ow!" he cried, "That really hurt!" He pointed to his crudely bandaged arm.

"That was the point," she grinned evilly. "Now, where do you live?"

"333 First Street"

Minutes passed in silence, if you disregarded the serenading of Michael Buble.

"So here we are!" Blaise announced suddenly, pulling up at the curb. Mal noticed that his apartment window was lit up. Ah, hell. Mum's awake.

* * *

Natara sat stiffly on the plush couch in the living room, reading her book. Actually, trying to read would be more accurate. She struggled to focus, knowing that Mal could be in trouble. He could be hurt. He could be stabbed, bleeding to death, hidden from view. The fear ate at her. If anything happened to him, Natara didn't know if she would be able to forgive herself for losing him. She threw the book at the wall with a thud, anxious for her son. The doorbell rang.

*Ding dong*

Natara sat up, with a start. She rushed to the wooden door and opened it. There stood Mal and a familiar looking blond. Blaise, she realised.

"Mal, are you alright?" she asked worriedly, noticing the bloodstained bandages on his arms, "How did this happen?"

"He got into a fight," Blaise answered cooly, "The guy had a knife. He hasn't a lot of blood, but the wounds still need to be washed. I don't think the blade was very clean."

"You what?!" Natara exclaimed, "He had a knife! Were you suicidal or something? As well as sneaking out! Malachi Charles Williams, you are in dee-"

"Relax, Natara," Blaise said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "It wasn't like he was picking fights or anything. There was a girl getting mugged and Mal here stopped it. It's just like something your father would've did." She directed the last comment at Mal.

"My father?" he replied, looking at her curiously, "You knew my father?"

"Yeah," she replied, "Didn't you know? We used to work together with your mum."

"What did you do?"

Blaise stared at him, her mouth opened wide.

"NATARA!" she screamed, "You didn't tell him?!"

"Oh my, Blaise, that is a mighty fine jacket you have." she replied, attempting to change the topic.

"NATARA!"

Mal swore he felt the ground shake.

"No, I didn't tell him. Stop yelling. You'll wake the neighbours up."

"Stop yelling, STOP YELLING! Be glad you don't have a hole in the wall by now! I have an urge to punch something now. We need to talk!"

"Fine. Mal, go to your room."

Mal shuffled into his room and closed the door. What was that about? he wondered, slumped on his bed. Muffled yells filtered through the wood of his door. They mostly sounded like Blaise, but occasionally he heard Mum scream as well. Blaise said that she, his father and Mum worked together. Mal didn't even know that his mother even had a different job, other than an accountant. He found it hard to imagine her work in something other than what she wore currently. Mal sighed and once again he fell asleep.

* * *

**I apologise for my lack of knowledge about gun laws ect. in America. I know that this is probably not correct. I don't care. In real life, Blaise might be sent to jail for firing that gun. I have no idea. '~'**


	5. Career Expo

**New chapter! Review replies at end.**

**I do not own Cause of Death. If I did, Eric would be alive ;-;**

* * *

All but one of Malachi's classes were cancelled. Much of the school day was replaced by the Career Expo taking place. In the school gym, senior students from Geary High and other local schools milled around, visiting the many stands and attempting to earn brownie points with potential employers. Mal drifted about with his friends Trent and David. His eyes were peeled, searching for a specific stall.

"Hey, look! It's the Tribunal stand, you know, the newspaper?" Trent exclaimed. Mal had been friends with the tall, strawberry blond guy since he could remember. He was athletic and muscular, but family issues meant he couldn't pursue the sport he wanted to play professionally; basketball. Because of this, he was teased quite a lot. "Hey, for a forty year old or something, she's still looking good!" he added, referring to the brunette woman with the purple streak. She was attempting to convince those who had gathered around to consider a future in journalism.

"Intervention!" David exclaimed. Those around him turned their head. They would have seen, quite simply, a nerd. He has high grades in biology, physics, chemistry and the like but no skill in anything athletic. Many bullied him, but instead of sulking, he revelled in his status. He didn't care about what people thought about him, which was good, as many didn't think very highly of him. But with his inherited beauty, if you looked past the glasses and 'uncool' clothing, Mal considered, he would be what some may regard as hot. Not that Mal did. He was very interested in females. "What about someone closer to your age? Like them," David suggested, gesturing with his head at a group of buxom Geary students. They wore their shirts cut low and their skirts riding high.

"Nice choice, but they're out of our league," Mal mock comforted, patting David's back with increasing strength. His eyes widened and David hurriedly moved away when Mal had begun whacking him with an unnecessary force, and shot him a glare. Trent laughed, much to David's annoyance.

Mal was about to rub it in some more when the stall he was searching for caught his eye. He begun heading over.

"Hey, where are you goin- Oh," Trent cut himself off in mid sentence, "You want to join the police force."

"Yep," Mal replied.

"You're going to need more muscles than that!" David teased, lightly squeezing his biceps. Mal was quite toned, though not as much as Trent.

"You actually need some," Mal retorted, squeezing David's.

"Cut it out, that hurts," David squirmed.

Laughing, they didn't realise the danger to Mal until they were halfway to the booth, when it hit him quite literally. Mal had his breath knocked out of him when someone barrelled into him.

That someone, was of course, Brad. He was bent double with laughter. Curse his superb gridiron skills. He wasn't quarterback for nothing.

"Did you see his face?" he guffawed to his friends, who had gathered over to him. That included, much to Malachi's dismay, the girls they saw. "It was priceless!"

"He didn't see you coming," a moron cheered.

"You're so fast," a suckup giggled.

"And strong," an imbecile agreed.

Malachi fumed. His head ached, having hit it on the ground. The bruises on his torso and arms raged in pain. He sat up, seeing stars.

"Are you okay?" Trent asked. He offered a hand, which Mal gladly took. He stumbled, unsteady on his feet. Brad and company left, chuckling. Probably to go inflate his ego or murder kittens, Mal grumpily thought.

"I'm okay," he replied, brushing himself off. He started to walk towards the stall again.

"You really want to become a police officer, don't you?" Trent asked.

"Yeah, I really do."

"Even if your mum won't let you? She doesn't seem like the type to allow you to join willingly."

"She isn't," Malachi assured him, "You should have seen the fit she threw when I told her."

"Woah. That seems bad."

"Yeah. I wonder why she was so upset about it?"

"She is ridiculously overprotective." Trent reasoned.

"Yeah, but it seems to be something more than that."

"What makes you think that?"

"I dunno, I just have this feeling. Mum really overreacted though," Mal shared, scratching his head, "Also, there was this blond woman, around Mum's age. She said that she, my dad and Mum used to work together."

"Woah! Detective Williams on da case!" Trent threw his hands up while Malachi chortled. Soon they reached the stall.

* * *

A very bored Colt sat at his booth, waiting for his partner to come back with refreshments. Above him, a dark blue banner with white text read 'Interested in making a difference? Join the SFPD'. It was far too corny for his liking and not very effective. Not many people have walked up to the stall. Even fewer had shown actual interest, instead of cracking police jokes. Only one or two had taken a brochure after begin informed of the standards and requirements to become one of San Francisco's Finest. He doubted they would even actually apply. Their pamphlet taking was more driven by apology than wanting to know more.

_I'm sorry I'm too lazy to bother trying out, _they seemed to say._ I'll just make it not seem like a waste of your time by taking this._

Maybe Colt and his partner weren't inspirational enough. Or maybe it was because they were so damn tired of just sitting and doing nothing, they couldn't be bothered with all the motivational 'Join us' bull.

"Anyone else?" Detective Randy Kensington asked, returning with two cans of Dr. Pepper in each hand

"Nah," Detective Colt Warren replied. Randy handed him a can and Colt pulled the metal ring. It fizzed as he took a big swig. "This is so boring. We could be doing something productive, instead we're stuck doing this!" He gestured wildly in front of him.

Randy groaned. "I know. This is a massive waste of time. Why couldn't some rookies do this?"

"Because we don't have any," Colt poorly mimicked Captain Redbird, making Randy smile, "We need some new blood. Academy enrolments have dropped drastically and we need to change that."

"And by 'we' he means us," Randy added, rolling his eyes.

"At least the view is nice," Colt breezily added, waving to his wife Denni who was at the Tribunal stand. "I'm going to get some donuts. Or pretzels. Or whatever edible snack I can lay my hands on." He stood up and left. Randy slouched in his seat and was about to listen to his favourite band, 'Necrophile Holocaust' on his iPod when he saw three people heading his way.

Two of them were muscular, the other scrawny. He obviously wasn't interested in enrolling, Randy deduced. He studied the other two more closely. The blond one was very tall, and built up around his shoulders, chest and back. An ideal basketball player, he decided. If he already went to all the effort to build himself up, he probably already knew that. That left the other one. By the way he was leading the his friends, he was most likely to be the one curious about becoming a police officer. There were his eyes, as well. The azure globes had a look of eagerness in them. They arrived at the booth.

"You interested?" Randy cut to the chase, pointing to the sign above him.

"Yeah," the dark haired guy replied, proving his hunch, "What's the process to join?"

"It's all in here," Randy handed a pamphlet from the almost untouched stack.

"Cool," the man browsed the brochure, "What's it like, being a police officer?"

"It's alright. You have to be really fit. The physical parts can be really demanding; chasing after criminals and the like. The paperwork's a drag, though and at first, you'll be doing a lot of it. I certainly did."

Mal made a face. "Sounds like fun."

"At least you're doing something good."

"Yeah. What made you want to join?"

"It first considered it when I was around your age. I lived in a luxury suburb when there were mysterious deaths occurring in the area. Around that time, a married couple moved in. Charles and Claudette Waldencrest, if I recall correctly. It was hard to forget them. That night, I went to vandalise their house when they saw me. The husband chased me into my front yard where we found my mum dead, her head crushed. Turns out, the couple were actually undercover officers who were investigating the murders. They discovered that Wendy, a woman who lived in my street, was the murderer. I was actually kinda pissed off at first, telling myself that it's their fault that the 'perfect' neighbourhood facade was ruined. As I reflected later on, I actually became curious about how there was a killer in such a 'perfect' neighbourhood. I started to wonder, if murder happened here, then what else are people doing? I already knew part to that answer, and I kept thinking back to my mum's pulverised head. After what happened, I couldn't not do anything to help those in similar situations."

"That's quite a story. How did your dad react when you told them you wanted to join the force?"

Randy chuckled, "Parents not happy?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"It's my job to know. Anyway, my dad freaked out. He wanted me to help enforce the rules of something called the Homeowner's Charter."

"What did you do?" Mal asked hopefully.

"I moved. I'm originally from Avalon Grove."

"Oh," Malachi's face fell.

"Don't worry about it. We all have different situations. You'll figure something out."

"Do you regret moving?"

"Nah. My dad was a real bastard."

"Oh. Uh, nice talking to you."

"Ditto."

The guy walked off with his friends as Randy turned on his iPod. He put on the earphones and was nodding along to the heavy beats when he felt two strong hands grab his shoulders.

"What the-" Randy almost swore, eyes opened wide. Colt bursted out laughing.

"I got you! Here you go," Colt handed over a bag of snakes while he pigged out on a packet of chips, "Anyone else?"

"Yeah. You missed them," Randy replied, smiling when he saw his partner's face fall.

"Damn. Who?"

"An Indian-looking guy. He seemed really interested, unlike the others."

"Cool."

"The strangest thing about him was his eyes. They're a really deep cerulean. I wonder if they're contact lenses?"

"Mal.." Colt whispered under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing important. Hey, do you have Candy Crush on that?" Colt pointed at Randy's iPod, desperate for a distraction from the mundane.

"Get your own!" he hissed, pulling it away from his longing hands.

* * *

You have earned 100 out of 100 detective points. You got the perfect score! Your rank for this chapter is... Master Detective! You have unlocked the bonus scene. Enjoy!

Before...

Blaise stormed through the precinct, only stopping at the Jeremy's office door. It was almost 3:00am but she somehow had the grace to knock, or rather, bash the door with her fist. She was still angry from her conversation with Natara and her grocery's being ruined.

"Come in," Jeremy said, his voice muffled.

Blaise promptly walked in and dumped his car keys on his desk. It thudded as it landed on the report he was working on.

"Thanks Blaise," he said, looking up.

"It's parked in the same spot," she ignored him, "And I sure hope the station your car radio was set on isn't what you usually listen to." This made him smile, much to her annoyance.

"It's not. I had a friend who needed a ride. She messed up all my settings."

"Thank goodness." Blaise turned to leave when Jeremy grabbed onto her sleeve. She raised an eyebrow.

"Do you need a ride home?" he hastily asked, trying to cover up his instinctive action. He didn't want her to go away again.

"No." She pulled her arm out of his grasp. She started walking out and managed to reach the door when Jeremy called out to her.

"A second chance, Blaise. That's all I'm asking for."

Blaise whipped around. "No."

"Please," he pouted. Blaise took one look at his blue, sincere eyes and sighed. She could never resist his puppy dog eyes.

"Fine," she relented, "What's your number?"

Jeremy told her, a huge grin breaking out on his face. This time he won't screw up. This time he won't let her go.

* * *

**mozzi-girl: Yeah, you're right. Thanks got the advice.**

**Fanfiction Fanatic: Thankyou! Of course I will!**

**The Beautiful Filth: I guess it could be. Thanks for the review.**


	6. Math

**Thank you everybody for the reviews!**

* * *

After the excitement of the Career Expo, Maths was torture. That is, according to Malachi. To him, it was cruelly and inhumanly dull, if you exclude what happened near the beginning of the lesson.

Malachi stood outside the classroom door. Around him, his classmates chattered to each other, separated into their cliques. He gazed enviously at them as he stood by himself. In middle school, he was a social butterfly. He used to play gridiron with his many friends during lunch. Nowadays, he thought wistfully, he was by himself. An outsider. Well, almost an outsider, he corrected, seeing Trent and David walk past for class. To distract himself from his thoughts, Mal pulled out the brochure he was given out of his pocket.

_Join the SFPD- For those who want to make a difference. _

_Becoming a peace officer is a highly rewarding and fulfilling career option, where you can make a difference. Before you apply, here are some things you should know._

_First off, you must a US citizen, have graduated from high school and be at least eighteen years old. You will be required to pass a reading and writing test and have a driver's license. An extensive background test will be performed in which your fingerprints are sent to the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Department of Justice. You also have to pass a psychological and medical assessment and be fit. _

_You have to submit an application to the SFPD on a scheduled date. After, yo-_

"Give it back," Malachi sighed, glaring at Brad who had snatched the pamphlet from him. Why was he here? He wasn't in Mal's class.

"What do we have here?" Brad smirked, ignoring Mal, "Becoming a peace officer is a highly rewarding and fulfilling career optio- Oooo, Chicken wants to be a police officer. You hear that?"

"Loud and clear, over," a swarthy man mimed speaking into a radio. Mal inwardly groaned. Of course. Wherever Brad is, Jack is sure to follow. Luckily for Malachi, at that moment his Math teacher arrived.

"Line up," Mr Wainwright ordered, "And Brad, go to your class."

Brad and Jack gave Mal the brochure and scurried away like the insects they were. Oh, how Mal would love to squash them with his shoe. Unfortunately, you can't always get what you want.

"Come inside," Wainwright said, and Mal took his normal seat in the front row. He set his books out as his elderly teacher rambled on about roots, powers and exponential decay. He slouched in his chair as he tried to pay attention and understand the teacher's boring lecture. He failed.

* * *

_Mal stood in front of Brad in a arena of some sort. It looked otherworldly, with grey stone and strange carvings. Mal held a glowing bastard sword in his hands. He heard the cheers of the spectators and he knew what he had to do. _

_He swung it at Brad as if it was weightless. He jumped back, avoiding the blow. Mal continued to attack, his sword humming a song of doom. Brad unsheathed a dagger as he continued dodging. Mal grimaced. Rouges are wusses. _

_At last Brad was backed against a wall, with nowhere to go. Realising his dilemma, he fell to the ground, blubbering apologies, pleas and praise. _

_"Spare me!"_

_"You are the most powerful in the universe!"_

_"Please forgive me!"_

_"I'm sorry!"_

_"Your skill is unrivalled!"_

_Mal ignored them, his sword swooped down. His head wen-_

* * *

The classroom door opened, waking Mal up from his daydream. In walked a swarthy girl who he had never seen before. She had her black hair in a ponytail and wore a black tank top. Gray skinny jeans hugged her shapely legs and she had black Converse All Star's on her feet. Mr Wainwright stopped mid lecture.

"So you're the new student?" he asked.

"Yeah," the girl replied, clearly not wanting to be there.

"Take a seat," Mr Wainwright paused to check the class role, "Bianca Estelle."

Her eyes scanned the classroom, searching for an empty desk. Only one was to be found. She sauntered over and dumped her pencil case and books next to Malachi.

"Hi," she said as she opened her textbook to the right page.

"Hello. I'm Malachi, but you can call me Mal," he replied, desperately trying to keep cool. Why is she sitting next to me? he kept asking himself, despite knowing the answer.

"Cool," she said. The rest of the lesson was spent in silence, excluding the scratching of pens on paper and Mr Wainwright's dreary voice.

* * *

"How was school?" Natara asked when she picked her son up from school.

"Great," Mal answered.

"That's good. What at the Career Expo did you find the most interesting?"

The.. Tribunal stand," Mal lied quickly, shoving the police brochure deeper in his pocket as he did, "It's really interesting how much effort goes into one article."

"That's good. At least you're over that police nonsense."

"Uh, yeah. I didn't know what I was thinking." He hated lying to his mother, but there was no way he could see her let him do what job he wanted to do.


	7. Guardian Angel

**Sorry it took so long. ;-; I had a mental blank when writing and had no idea how to reach the ending I had planned for this story. Now I do! :D**

**I admit, last chapter may have been quite unnecessary in many ways, but I needed to introduce Bianca somehow :D Mweheheh. **

* * *

"Have you decided what you're going to do to celebrate your birthday?" Natara asked her son when they were eating dinner one night.

Mal looked surprised. "I haven't really thought about it," Mal replied.

"Why?"

"Because it's ages away.."

"It's in two weeks."

"See, ages away," Ma replied smugly.

Natara glared at him. Curse men and their lack of organisational skills. "It's not. Do you have any idea what you want to do?"

"A party," Mal said firmly after a moment of consideration.

Natara waited for him to elaborate.

"That's all I've figured out," he added, pressured by his mum's stare.

Natara sighed. "Mal, I thought you wanted to do something for your 18th birthday."

"I do," Mal interjected.

"Then why don't you know what you want?"

"I do though. I want it to be special. I want it to be rememberable." To celebrate hopefully the last year of being stuck at school comprising of mostly dumbasses, he mentally added.

"Most people save that for their 21st."

"No, most get totally wasted and have no recollection of their 21st."

I guess I'm not 'most', Natara thought, looking back at her own 21st birthday. "Since when were you an expert on parties?"

"Since I first started watching TV."

"Well, that is the state of today's television," Natara raised her eyebrows, "Try to think of something though, okay? Preferably before the week ends, so I can prepare."

" 'Kay," Mal replied, annoyed at the deadline. There was plenty of time to choose. Curse women and their obsessive organisational skills.

* * *

Days passed but Malachi still hadn't thought of something. It wasn't the first thing in his mind, though. After a gruelling day at school that comprised mainly of practice exams, tests and essays, he was glad for the bell to ring at the end of the day. He rushed out into the corridor miles ahead of everybody else in his class in a vain attempt to beat the flood of students spilling from classrooms. The overpowering stench of sweat and cheap deodorant filled the air as the moving tide of bodies jostled about. Eventually reaching his faded red locker, dented from the numerous times Brad had shoved him against it, he unlocked it and stuffed numerous thick textbooks into his bag. It seemed to weigh a ton. Shutting it with a thud, he locked it up and spotted his friend Trent across the hallway. Malachi slowly trudged his way towards him.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hi," Trent grunted as he struggled to open his combination lock.

"Have you seen David recently?" Mal asked.

"Nah. We haven't hanged out since the Career Expo. I saw him walking to Biology today, though."

Mal raised his eyebrows to that. "I wonder why he's been avoiding us."

"Yeah." The next few moments were spent in an awkward silence.

"So, am I the only one with teachers ramming practice exams down my throat?" Mal asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"Nope. Finally!" Trent exclaimed as his locker swung open, "The actual exit exams are ages away. 6 weeks, I think."

"Yeah. My Math teacher made that quite clear. Still didn't stop him."

"I know the feeling," Trent dragged his bag out of his locker and grunted as he heaved it onto his back. It was heavy like Mal's because of the sheer amount of homework assigned. He and Malachi walked out of school.

"You want to go to 'Hot Spud'?" Trent asked.

"What's that?" Mal inquired, curious.

"A place that sells only potatoes."

"Why would I want to go to a place that sells only potatoes?" Mal groaned.

"They also sell salad."

"That's even worse."

"Come on, I heard its pretty good. I wanted to try it out but I don't want to look like a loner."

"It's probably going to taste like that Thai food you made us get once."

"_Probably_," Trent emphasised. "You never know..."

For a moment, a silent debate took place in Malachi's head before he finally decided. "Fine," he said. Trent yessss'd.

"Can I come too?" Bianca asked, coming out of nowhere. Over the past few days, they'd had become friends, even with the threat Brad's constant bullying and insults. The girl simply took it in her stride. In Mal's opinion, it was crazy. She could have loads of friends and be really popular but he chose to hang out with them. He's not complaining, though.

"Sure," Malachi answered, a huge grin on his face. Trent just rolled his eyes.

* * *

Trent, Mal and Bianca all stood in the queue at 'Hot Spuds', reading the menu posted behind the counter.

"Woah. That is a lot of potatoes," Mal stated the obvious.

"Detective score up, Fallon," Bianca replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mal raised his eyebrows, "No need to get snappy."

"I'm not snappy."

"You are."

"Don't think so."

"Yep."

"Fine, I am," Bianca rolled her eyes.

"Told you so." Mal staged great pain when Bianca hit him.

"Hey, what was that for?" he asked.

"For being you."

"That's mean. I am deeply hurt."

"I would like 1 Steak Spud," Trent ordered, abruptly interrupting their conversation, "What about you?" Mal hadn't realised they were already at the front of the line and panicked slightly. He hasn't decided what to get and he didn't want to hold them up while he chose.

"One Seafood Spud," Bianca said.

"A, uh, Sausage Spud for me." Mal stuttered. Great, he thought bitterly as Bianca grinned, I'm stammering.

"That will be $26.85," the cashier informed. The smile on his face seemed painfully forced.

"Everybody's paying for their own potato," Trent announced as everybody looked at him expectantly.

"Scrooge," Mal muttered as he pulled out $9 from his school bag, "You're the one who wanted me to come."

"Cheapskate," Bianca glared as she extracted $10 from her purse. Mal noticed that it was stuffed full of cash.

"Like you're one to complain," he pointed out, gesturing at her dough.

"Never turn down a freebie," she smiled, hastily snapping close her wallet.

"Unless its nonexistent," Trent added.

They handed the money over and the cashier gave them their potatoes. Bianca, Trent and Mal walked over and sat at a vacant table. Mal took a bite out of his spud and his cerulean eyes widened.

"You're right. These are good," Mal told Trent after swallowing.

"Agreed," Bianca added.

"See, not like Thai food," commented Trent.

Looking at the smiles plastered on her companion's faces at the simple remark, Bianca voiced her realisation, "There's something I'm missing out on. Thai food isn't that bad."

The evil grins the boys' gave her almost convinced her otherwise.

"This one is. We'll have to get you some. It'll change your mind," Trent spoke wickedly.

"Definitely," Mal agreed.

Bianca swore the temperature in the restaurant dropped a few degrees. Time for a new subject, she decided.

"So, am I the only one with teachers ramming practice exams down my throat?"

"Exactly what I said!" exclaimed Mal, leaning back in his chair.

"It's ridiculous!" Trent added.

"Absurd," Mal agreed.

"Stupid."

"Ludicrous."

"Preposte-"

"I get it!" Bianca almost screamed, "No need to recite the dictionary."

"Why? Do you want me to?" Trent replied, taking out his iPhone and reading, "A -the blood group whose red cells carry the A antigen, the 1st letter of the Roman alphabet, the basic unit of electric current adopted under the Systeme International d'Unites, a metric unit of length equal to te-"

"Enough!" Mal shouted, "No one wants you to."

Trent put his phone back in his pocket, pouting, "If you insist."

"We do," Bianca hastily informed him before taking another bite of her potato. The rest of their meal was spent discussing topics not relative to dictionaries, Asian cuisine or school.

* * *

"How many more food places do you want to go to?" Malachi asked, exasperated.

"Probably the same answer as 'How many food places are there in San Francisco?' " Bianca added, her mood darkening like the sky above. It was sunset now, and for the past few hours she and Mal had been following Trent to whatever eatery he fancied checking out. Some were decent, others, in Mal's opinion, should've been shut down and declared health and safety hazards years ago.

"Only if the answer is one," Trent replied, cheerfully "And if it is, we've definitely proved that wrong."

"I can believe that," Bianca grumbled.

"At least Trent paid for the last few," Mal said, "How much further?"

"Almost there," Trent answered, barely holding in his excitement.

A firm pair of hands pulled Malachi into a small nearby alleyway. This looks familiar, he grimly thought, remembering the last time he was in one. Shouts of indignation from Bianca and Trent confirmed that the same thing was happening to them as Mal was roughly shoved onto the ground. Getting up, he saw Brad, among 4-5 others. Of course, what else was he to expect?

"There they are," he said, addressing an unseen person, "You ready?"

"Hell yeah," a familiar voice spoke. Someone pushed his way to the front of the crowded corridor. It was David.

He was different in almost every way imaginable. His clothes were now what may be considered 'cool', his hair gelled and spiked. His mouth was upturned in a smirk and his grey eyes were cold and unfeeling. The bright, aloof light in them had been extinguished. Mal was given a great view of the new him as David's fist pommeled into his face.

Mal stumbled backwards into a graffitied wall. He saw others attack Trent and Bianca. Trent was desperately holding off his attackers while Bianca- surprisingly- was doing quite well. They couldn't even touch her as she kept blocking their clumsy attempts. He also saw the people walk past, staring and looking but not doing anything. What the hell was wrong with them? Mal saw a pink blur fly towards him and he tried to intercept it but wasn't fast enough. David's fist flew into him for a second time. And a third time. And a fourth. His attempts to stop him were in vain. A second person joined in but Mal didn't notice. He collapsed onto the ground and David stood over his huddled, bruised body.

"Why the hell are you doing this?" Mal asked, trying to get up and failing as a second pair of arms shoved him down. He leaned against the wall in what he thought as a defensive crouch.

"Because I have to," David replied. He glanced over at Bianca, "I see you've got a harlot to replace me."

Mal's face hardened. "Don't call her that," he threatened.

"Whatcha gonna do?" he taunted. "Nothing, because you can't. You're weak, Trent's weak, the harlot's weak. That's why I gotta ditch."

Then he started kicking Malachi, like they had never been friends. David's new black Converses hit him in the ribs like a battering ram before swinging again for a painful blow to the stomach. Malachi's body soon hurt all over. Then as quickly and suddenly as it begun, it ended as his attackers dispersed.

"Oi! Piss off before I call the cops!" another familiar voice shouted. The thudding of many pairs of feet hitting the pavement filled the alleyway.

"Nice work," Mal heard Brad say as he ran off, "You're in."

"Cool," David simply replied. Mal cursed every single one of them in his mind. All this for some stupid initiation?!

The setting sun caused his saviour's hair to almost seem to glow. Her golden locks framed her head like a halo as she offered a hand. The only thing that ruined the illusion was the grimace that she wore on her face.

* * *

**Aand we all know who it is, lel. I can't decide whether to have the actual Mal Fallon alive or dead. What do you want? **


	8. Math Sucks

**God, I'm lazy. Bianca isn't the kid of anyone in the precinct, but is related to someone in the COD universe.**

* * *

Blaise offered a hand to the beaten man in front of her. God, he's hopeless, she thought, a scowl forming on her face. With a past FBI agent and one of the finest former detectives Blaise had ever known as his parents, you'd think he would do somewhat well in a fight. No such luck.

Malachi gladly took the offered hand and managed to pull himself up. He leaned against the wall, debating whether to look at the, for some reason angry, woman in the eye. She was familiar. He struggled to remember her name. Blaise. Her name is Blaise. Malachi's vision swum and he stumbled and fell. Blaise's eyes widened in shock as she stepped forward to catch him.

Mal could see the concern replace the fury in her eyes as she asked, "Are you okay?" She felt some sense of responsibility for his safety and wellbeing, especially after what happened with Mal Fallon was partly her responsibility.

"The bee's knees," Malachi responded, smiling weakly, "How's Trent?"

"Okay," the person in question called out, who was being tended by Bianca, who was perfectly fine besides from panting slightly, "If you disregard the numerous bruises and cuts I received."

Blaise fished out gauze from her purse and threw it to him.

"Uh, thanks," he said, staring wide eyed at the loosely woven fabric in his hands, "Umm, why do you have gua-"

"Don't ask," was Blaise's reply. Trent wisely didn't.

"I guess we never got to go to the eatery you wanted to go to," Bianca told Trent woefully. Despite what she said before, she was actually looking forward to it.

"You guessed?" Blaise snapped, incredulous. Maybe she was just suffering from 'grumpyoldman' syndrome, or maybe she's overprotective of Malachi, but she didn't like that girl. There was something about her that told Blaise she was hiding something. It was a gut feeling, Blaise though, smiling faintly at one of her former partner's favourite sayings.

"Well, we could always crawl to it," Malachi added helpfully before Blaise shot him an icy glare.

"For goodness sake Blaise, you're going through more mood swings than a hormonal teenager on her period!" he shouted, earning laughter from Trent and Bianca and one of the evilest looks physically possible from Blaise. If looks could kill, Malachi would be writhing on the ground, foaming at the mouth. Move aside Medusa, Blaise takes 1st prize for world's most lethal stare. Blaise planted her hands on her hips.

"Do you want to be driven home, or what?" she asked, furious.

"Actually, no," Trent replied, causing Blaise to be surprised.

"Why?" she asked, startled.

"Because..." he trailed off hesitantly. Blaise's eyes widened as she realised what he was trying to say.

"What? No! I'm not a.." she waved her arms, too shocked at the accusation to complete the sentence.

"That's what they all say as they try to lure you into their vans," he mumbled, but still followed her with Mal when she started to walk to her vehicle. He trusted his best friend's judgement; if he knew her and wasn't afraid of being beaten to death by the cranky woman then she probably wouldn't, hopefully.

"You coming?" Blaise asked when she noticed the girl wasn't following.

"I'll take a taxi home," Bianca responded, shaking her head. Blaise and company walked off.

As they turned the corner, an ominous looking white van with heavily tinted windows caught Trent's eye. Metaphorical alarm bells started ringing in his head when the woman (Blaise, Mal had called her) rummaged in her Swiss Army knife-like bag and pulled out her car keys as they approached it.

"You own a white van and expect us to believe you?" Mal teased.

"Not my car," she scowled. As she pressed the unlock button, an unseen car behind the van beeped and flashed its lights. "See?"

They entered her maroon sedan after dumping their bags in the boot; Blaise in the front and Mal and Trent in the back. As she drove, the radio blared out some sort of heavy song about anchors that Mal and Trent had never heard before. Eventually they arrived at Malachi's home.

"Have fun explaining that," Blaise grinned evilly as he got out, referring to his soiled clothing and bruised skin. Mal groaned. How was he going to explain that? He rack his brains for a suitable excuse as he trudged inside the foyer. As much as Blaise like too, there was no point trying to save him from the wrath of Natara. He was doomed.

* * *

Malachi crept up the stairs of the apartment building, thinking. Attacked by a dog? Nah. Fell over? Because it's possible to sustain the amount of damage he did. He was overcome with panic as he neared the apartment. He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob after unlocking it with the spare key he carried. No point in lingering outside, he rationalised to himself. Might as well face the music. He firmly clamped his hand down on the knob and turned.

The numbered door swung open to reveal an darkened apartment. Nothing stirred inside. Malachi almost exclaimed to his stroke of luck. He scuttled inside, expecting his mother to come bursting out a door but finding it devoid of life. She was either asleep in her room or still at work. After dumping his bag in a corner, he took a hurried shower. His hair was still dripping wet when he dumped his clothing in the hamper, carefully covering it up with the other dirty laundry. He observed his handiwork with a critical eye and made a slight adjustment.

With that finished, he ran into the small bathroom, almost slipping on a puddle of water that he'd forgotten to wipe up. Scooping up the hairdryer, he fiddled with the switch to turn it on. It blared out hot air and he used it to dry his hair while his foot clumsily attempted to mop up the puddle with a fallen towel. It was hard to tell if anyone had entered the flat with the howling of the dryer but when Malachi walked back into the living room, he found it still deserted.

The sun had set by then. Mal was too full from the numerous eateries he had visited, for dinner. Instead, he reluctantly decided to start on the mountain of homework he was assigned. He dragged his oversized math textbook and dumped it on the kitchen table. He was halfway through question 3 when his mother walked in, carrying a plastic bag.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Natara apologised, "I offered to work overtime because someone misplaced some important documents that's needed tomorrow and we were running low on milk and bread."

"Mm," he mumbled, focused on the dilemma at hand. Damn, why was maths so hard?! Natara noticed he was having trouble.

"Do you need help?" she asked, unpacking the groceries.

"Yeah," he answered sheepishly. His mum walked over and looked over his shoulder. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read the question.

"This is easy," she stated and started explaining. Thanks for the confidence boost mum, Mal gloomily thought.

Half hour later, the question was completed and Mal was bored out of his mind. "Have you decided what you want to do for your birthday yet?" Natara asked.

Mal reflected back on the day. "Yeah. I just want to invite a few friends over, nothing big."

"Okay," Natara replied, warming up leftovers for her dinner, "Anything for you."


End file.
